


Flavours of Fucked Up

by Brownies96



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Blood As Lube, Consensual non-con, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat swearing, Fake Murder, Gore, I'm begging you, M/M, Pain Kink, Thomas if you ever find this fic, Unhealthy Relationships, bottoming from the top?, could it become healthy if they work on themselves? maybe, do the terms top and bottom mean anything when whatever you do its technically masturbation, he likes to lie, i haven’t written anything this depraved since I was still a teenager, idk how it works with Janus, literally so much gore, no beta coz whats fruit without the pits?, ok so its Remus so idk what you’re expecting, please dont read it, they both have feelings but don’t know how to deal with them, topping from the bottom?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:41:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24764053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brownies96/pseuds/Brownies96
Summary: Exactly what it says on the can. Yeah, I broke my no Sanders Sides Smut rule. The good news is that this is so depraved and messed up that I'm not sure it even counts as smut. I still had fun writing it though.
Relationships: Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders
Comments: 2
Kudos: 67





	Flavours of Fucked Up

**Author's Note:**

> I am begging you, read the tags before you read this fic.

For barely a moment, certainly less than a second, Remus had wondered if Janus wouldn’t come back now that he had been accepted by Thomas. Without Janus helping to keep him contained, Remus could be set loose on them all. Well, not so much now. Remus wondered if Logan had always known how to stop him, or if it was a new discovery of the world’s smartest moron. He’d fantasised a few times early on about breaking free of Janus’ confines and wreaking havoc on the other sides. Now he had to wonder if Janus had been protecting him as much as he was protecting the others from him. Not that it mattered, Remus was everything he wasn’t supposed to be, which meant he had enjoyed his prison and its serpentine guard. Only Janus and Roman ever came to visit, and Remus really wasn’t in the mood to speak with his dear brother.

But Janus . . . Both Remus and Janus had both been thrown under the bus so many times by the others that their entrails had bled into each other as the vehicle had driven away. They had tasted one another’s flavour of fucked up and found them complementary. Remus wanted Janus to come back, to visit, a weird desire with a mixture of emotions one should feel and the ones one shouldn’t. 

He didn’t feel Janus enter his room. And when he saw Janus for a moment he wondered if it was another disturbing illusion he’d created, but no, there was life behind the eyes, not more of the emptiness that filled his room.

“Touch me,” Remus said the second he was sure it was Janus.

“You’ve been busy,” Janus ignored his words, looking around the dark mists that bordered the room, gazing stone-faced at what had once been the head of a replica Roman, missing an eye and no longer attached to the replica body, Janus could still tell who it was supposed to be.

“Touch me,” Remus said again, wondering how Janus would react to seeing the corpses of the sides now that they were best buddies. 

“How have you been Remus?” Janus asked politely.

“Touch me,” Remus ordered.

“I’ve been well,” Janus continued as if he hadn’t heard a thing, “things have been difficult, but aren’t they always-”

“TOUCH ME!” Remus bellowed in Janus’ face.

Janus faltered for less than a millisecond before continuing, “Everything will soon be back on track.” Damn! Remus had been sure he’d had him, but Janus was tougher than he looked. 

“TOUCH ME!” He screeched, trying again, Janus turned to look at him and Remus was about to jump with victory when Janus spoke again, his tone still calm, but venom dripping from every word.

“Oh, and your brother says hi.”

“He said what?” Remus demanded, completely sidetracked.

Janus smirked, “He didn’t say a thing, I just knew that would work.”

“Go fuck yourself.” Remus retorted.

“That’s really more your thing.” Janus replied smoothly.

“We’re the same person, that makes it your thing too.” Remus had made that argument many times. 

“You know,” Janus said, closing the short distance between them with an elegant stride and lightly running the back of his hand along Remus’ cheek, “If you’d asked nicely, I’d have done this sooner.”

Janus could be lying or he could be telling the truth, it was hard to tell and the way it made Remus’ head spin was ecstasy. He wondered if it could make him throw up like those spinning carnival rides. Well, there was only one way to find out.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Remus responded.

“It isn’t?” Janus asked, the picture of innocence. The expression was so Patton-like that Remus found himself preparing to slap it when Janus caught his hand. “I can’t imagine what you mean.”

“Use your creativity,” Remus suggested, “I mean it, use me.” Remus smiled lewdly, “chop my leg off and fuck the bloody stump, pull my eyelashes out one by one and use them to decorate a mirror, stick a vacuum cleaner down my throat and turn it on, run-” Janus’ hand closed over Remus’ mouth gently, almost like a kiss.

“Come now,” Remus threw his voice so he could still speak, “you can go harder than that, I won’t break. Move your hand a few inches down and you can choke me.”

“Promises, promises,” Janus smiled wryly, pulling his gloved hand from Remu’s lips. Remus wished it had made a sucking noise like a vacuum suddenly being filled with air, but it didn’t.

“I mean every word.”

“I know.”

Remus met Janus’ eyes properly. They both knew Janus wasn’t supposed to be here, he was supposed to be rubbing shoulders with Thomas’ good sides: Fighting over some big moral dilemma or talking Roman and Logan down from some great ideological battle. But he was here. It meant something, but Remus didn’t know what and Janus would deny it until he exploded with the secrecy of it all. This was where Janus was supposed to turn away and go back to what he was doing and Remus would cause a scene and scream and do something truly vile to get his attention again, which wouldn’t work, leaving Remus’ room empty save for whatever distraction he could think up for himself.

But Janus didn’t move. He faced Remus with a challenge in his eyes, and Remus could never resist a challenge.

Their kiss was sloppy and messy, teeth clashing together and fast, desperate lips moving against one another. Remus ran his tongue over Janus’ canines, they weren’t really proteroglyphous fangs filled with venom just waiting to strike, but they weren’t not fangs either. Remus suspected that Janus’ teeth simply took whatever form best suited his mood, not unlike the other parts of his body that shifted between serpentine, human, and every step in-between.

“Bite me,” Remus begged.

“No,” Janus replied, grazing his teeth along Remus’ neck.

“I want to see my bones,” Remus whispered, egging Janus on, “I want you to tear me apart.”

“What’s the magic word?” Janus whispered back.

“Bibbidi bobbidi hurry the fuck up.” Apparently those were the exact right words because Janus sunk his teeth in and began to pull them through the flesh of Remus’ neck, warm blood sticking to his suit.

“We’re wearing too many clothes,” Remus pointed out, fixing the problem by ripping both of their outfits to shreds with fingernails that had not been that sharp ten seconds ago, and would only be that sharp again if the fancy took him. Maybe Roman would fix Janus’ outfit for him, or Patton could do it the old fashioned way with a needle and thread. Not that they would ever approve of how the clothing had been damaged. Janus would have to come up with a very good lie to convince either of them. 

Remus dipped his hand into the blood that was dripping tantalisingly down his torso, painting the rest of his skin with it before an idea struck him. Remus saw the phrase ‘anything can be a dildo if you’re brave enough’ and had taken it to its logical conclusion of ‘anything can be lube if you’re depraved enough’. He worked himself open using warm blood to ease the way with one hand while his other felt its way between Janus’ legs. 

Interesting, Janus only had one cock today. Two were always fun but that didn’t mean he was going to stop and make Janus change.

“Fuck me,” he whispered, painting Janus’s swollen cock red with his blood. “Fuck me,” he murmured like a prayer into Janus’ hair. “Fuck me,” he groaned and Janus removed his teeth from the wound. “Fuck me,” he begged when Janus’ eyes met his.

“Fuck me,” he said again, “please.” Janus’ bloody lips curled into a smile and that was the last thing Remus saw before he was skillfully flipped over. Remus closed his eyes committing every inch of the burn he felt at his entrance to memory, clenching his muscles to prolong the sensation. Most walk the tightrope strung delicately across pleasure and pain with grace, Remus had dived off it and was making mud angels in their murky depths. He wriggled and writhed against Janus, his cries and moans something beyond language. It reminded him of his old metaphor for the two of them, their guts smushing together on the road while the bus the ‘good’ sides had thrown them under drove away, leaving them unsure where they ended and the other began. Remus was not aware of what day it was, what month, he couldn’t even have known his own name for certain, all he knew was that he wanted this sensation more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. He wanted Janus.

This act, whether it could be considered sex, masturbation, or something so twisted it didn’t fit into either category, lived in the grey area of plausible deniability that Janus thrived in. He could say he was doing it to distract Remus, to give Thomas a break from his intrusive thoughts, he could say it was part of how he had kept Remus contained for so long, but he certainly didn’t enjoy it. It was all lies, but the kind of beautiful lies that the other’s could believe if they ever found out. What Janus was doing was wrapped in every layer of protection he could give it: No one knew but himself and Remus, if anyone found out he had excuses, and even he didn’t know what was hiding beneath the excuses.

Remus’s howls of pleasure reached their crescendo with Janus’ quieter climax. They lay there, in the mess they had made of themselves for some time. Someone who didn’t know either of them would have said there was tenderness in their embrace. That person wouldn’t know that the only time tender was a part of Remus’ life was when he was using a meat tenderiser on his replicas of the others. But there was warmth there, not icy cold like Janus or boiling lava like Remus, something comfortable in the middle that somehow fit both of them and neither of them at the same time.


End file.
